


Weathered Stone

by AntivanCrafts



Category: Gargoyles (TV)
Genre: Gen, fun for the whole family, only instead of fury you get despair, that one au where goliath and demona switch places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8235973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntivanCrafts/pseuds/AntivanCrafts
Summary: A thousand years ago, Demona and the clan were turned to stone as part of Magus's grief fueled vengeance, leaving Goliath to face the long years alone.





	

Feathery wisps of white hair tumbled over Sand's shoulder as he squinted in the harsh artificial light of the computer screen, dark eyes sweeping back and forth across the screen as he watched GreenDreamOfElextricSheep type _::Sand?::_ Sand grunted a rusty laugh, his tail sweeping the floor clear of dust behind him. He could almost hear the piping voice rising in question on the other end, and had to briefly close his eyes at the weight dragging them down. Sand felt the years shift on his shoulders like the particles worn away by wind and rain. _::What kind of name is that?::_

 _::A nickname that has a longer story than the name itself::_ Sand typed, one pale lilac claw gently depressing the keys so as not to break them. If he had to admit it to himself, begrudgingly so, claws were not ideally suited to the limited space on a keyboard, but long practice born of decades of isolation, both self imposed and not, had given him a keen dexterity, even with the stiffness in his joints --or rather, the muscle memory of it, the habitual bend to overcompensate for pain that was simply no longer there-- but not without casualties. A pile of typewriters of various makes and models gathered dust in the corner, bearing silent witness to his clumsiness, as did so many other things. _::Much like yours.::_

_::You don't think you're being a touch dramatic? You screen name is WindAndRain. You sound like Jane Austin writing country music.::_

That made him laugh, a real laugh, for the first time in... a very long time. He did not care to think of quite how long, but long enough to have seen generations of small hands come and go, children of war and death and isolation he had gathered to himself, here in this library and so many other places over the centuries. Small plastic barrettes clicked in his hair as he let his head fall back to stare up at the ceiling. Yes, he supposed it was dramatic. It had always been a point of contention between he and his mate, but a good-natured one, ended with smiles and laughing hands wound into his hair, and she would say-

Enough.

He almost thought he had said it aloud, but no. None of the orphaned children had stirred in their slumber, and he gradually allowed himself to relax again, until, that was, he heard footsteps moving down the staircase towards their hideaway. "No!" The sound seemed torn out of his throat, raw and scraping him wide and open. Impossible, he might have said, could have, would have, but he had thought that before, been proven wrong before. He pulled the plug on the computer's power source and quietly moved to where the closest child, RoAnna, slept, small hands curled tightly around a rabbit printed coverlet, shook them awake and whispered instructions to them that moved down the lines, the older children taking the younger by the hand and leading them to what Sand privately called the rookery, rooms buried even deeper in the bowels of the library.

The last of the children's receding footsteps had but barely moved beyond the hearing range of humans before a human, what he supposed humans took for a man, stepped forth. His smile gleamed in the dark as another man, lighter, gleaming in ways the man's smile did not, familiar ways, moved from his shadow. The first man looked him up and down as Sand crouched above the pile of blankets and pillows there had not been time to move, the whites of his eyes tracking their every movement as the first man settled back against a bookshelf and held up a book he'd held tucked under an arm, one Sand recognized as his own. David King, said the name on the spine, the pseudonym he had chosen for his tale. He had sworn never to think on it again, but RoAnna had suggested it, had stomped their little foot until Sand had given in with a laugh, had come around his desk to wrap them up in his wings and promise that yes, he would write down the story he had kept close to his heart, to be told, he had thought, only to small, wide eyes in the dark. "We have much to discuss, Goliath. Though I hear you prefer the name David, now. Remarkable coincidence, I should think, if I believed in them."

Sand recoiled, his tail lashing in agitation as he hopped a few feet back, wings spread wide for balance. Back, not forward. Not again, not unless he had to, in defense of those who could not defend themselves. Forward had lost him his clan, cost him everything. Cost him many battles across Scotland and the isles, all the way to Greece, where he had lost his name, and for his pride, for thinking himself more capable than the threats he warned them of, had been given a new one. Cassandra. The oracle whose words would never be believed. 

Sand. 

In the wearing away of the name over the years, as he had been, there became a truth that he could not deny. He was lesser, smaller, become something new. Diffuse. He was no longer a friend, he was many things, none so grand as his memories made the word.

"What do you want here?" His voice was a rasp that he choked off halfway through becoming a snarl. Sand paced a slow circle around the human, wings instinctively spread wide to make himself look bigger. He was afraid. It he was seen, he would have to move again. Uproot the lost children he had found. His new clan, smaller than the first, as unlike him as day from night, but they were his and he was theirs, and he would see no harm come to them, no more than he would this human here. 

"I have come here to verify something, and so I have. Whether you in turn choose to believe me..." There was that smile again. He did not trust it. "Therein lies half the fun."


End file.
